by Dave Daren
“Oh, yeah,” I remembered. “The one about the rock star who gets abducted by aliens. I read pieces of it when I was young.”
My dad cleared his throat and grimaced. “How young?”
“You don’t want to know,” I chuckled. “I do remember something about the rock star… Guy Vann?”
He nodded, and his eyes were bright. “Anything else?”
I squinted my eyes and dug through my memory. “Guy Vann and some chick named Guinevive were stranded on a planet and had to procreate it.”
“Well,” he laughed, “you’re more or less well adjusted, so I guess it didn’t screw you up too bad.”
“More or less, well adjusted,” I teased.
“More or less,” my dad repeated with a grin. “Anyway, it’s nothing much. It’s just fun.”
“You should publish it,” I suggested, and then I added, “on WordPress.”
“That’s it,” my father replied with a shake of his head, “you’re disinherited.”
I laughed. “Well, don’t feel bad about Durant. I’m not exactly on the best terms with him, either. I think he has it out for us.”
“Oh, I don’t feel bad,” he said as he tucked his hands casually into his pockets. “I want to smash his windows out.”
I winced. “I completely did not hear that,” I muttered.
“Really?” my dad asked with a mischievous smile. “Should I say it again?”
I just shook my head. “I’ll take this to the station and try to run by Slingers afterwards.”
“Alright,” he clapped me on the shoulder, “we’ll be good and sloshed by then.”
“Good,” I laughed. “Then maybe no one will notice if I don’t show.”
He chuckled, and I went to go find Vicki before I left.
“I’m going to head off to the police station,” I told her as I stopped by her desk. “Are you going to Slinger’s with everyone?”
“I’ll probably make an appearance,” she replied. “After all, I couldn’t miss a genuine western cowboy bar.”
I laughed. “I don’t know if genuine is really the word you’re looking for, but cowboy, yes. Just … you know, play it smart. The first time I set foot in that place, Horace and some guy were both undergoing unauthorized cosmetic surgery.”
She winked at me. “You think I couldn’t handle myself in a bar fight, Irving?”
“No,” I chuckled, “I think you could. I’d be more worried about the other guy.”
“Well,” Vicki grinned, “then you’d better save us a lawsuit and get there fast.”
I laughed. “See you later.”
“See you,” she replied with a little wave.
I grabbed the flash drive and the original eight track tape and left right as the guys finished loading the last of the gear. Now they all stood around back slapping and talking about the good old days that none of them could remember.
I nodded a quick thanks to the guys and drove out to the police station. Everytime I came out here, it was a dismal affair. I supposed that was part of the punishment.
I walked in through the glass door to a drab room lit up by dim fluorescent lighting, and there was the usual buzzing bulb on its way out. In eight months, they still had not fixed that thing. Or maybe it was a different bulb, I couldn’t tell. They had Bernice on dispatch again, and I smiled a quick greeting to her.
“They ever going to fix that bulb?” I nodded in the direction of the buzzing.
“What bulb?” she asked as she took a bite of her apple. It was always with the apples with her.
“The one that’s going out over there.” I pointed to the flickering fixture about three or four lights away from the front.
She turned and looked at it with interest. “Yeah, I guess it is going out. I’ll call maintenance about it.”
“Durant in?” I asked as I signed in on the visitor’s clipboard.
“Yeah,” she said and pointed back toward an office. “He said you might be by. You’ve made some real friends around here.”
“Sorry about that,” I replied with a wince.
“No,” she shook her head, “for real. Everyone’s talking about Jerry’s Star Wars fan fiction.”
“Star Wars fan fiction?” I repeated incredulously.
“Yeah,” she snorted. “Some of those tapes are him reading his stories. The guys say these stories are better than the prequels. Jerry left the last one on a cliffhanger, so everybody’s waiting to find the next one. It’s like a treasure hunt back there.”
I laughed heartily. “Well, I didn’t expect that, but I’ll take it.”
“Go on in to see Durant,” she said as she picked up the phone. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks, Bernice,” I replied and headed off in the direction of Durant’s office. Along the way, I passed some kind of makeshift room, with a bunch of officers on WWII decryption duty over our eight tracks. None of them looked too terribly delighted, but I still smiled as I passed them.
I got to Durant’s office and found him sitting at his desk in full uniform.
“Irving,” he barked as soon as he saw me. “I heard you were here. Come on in.”
“Hello,” I greeted calmly as I entered the police chief’s office. It was neat to a pin, with a mahogany desk, a massive credenza with medals, trophies, a couple of American flags across the top, and a full sized Arizona state flag on a post in a corner. The walls were bare, and Durant sat in a leather chair and looked me over.
“Have a seat.” He gestured toward a vinyl leather visitor’s chair.
I sat down and held up the flash drive.
“Whatddya got there?” he asked.
“This is the evidence for the Steele case,” I told him with a smirk. “I found your smoking gun.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?” Then he motioned with his hand and brought his desktop to life. “What’s on there?”
“Well,” I said as I handed him the drive, “it’s a digital audio file, dated two days before Steele’s death. Here’s the original tape.” Then I tossed the eight track in the case on his desk, and Durant glanced at the date.
“The conversation,” I went on, “is between Allison Pierce and Jerry Steele.”
“Go on,” Durant grunted as he stuck the drive into his computer.
“Well,” I continued, “as it turns out, they had a mutually beneficial arrangement based on lies and sex. When it went bad, she tried to kill him, and for whatever reason, didn’t succeed. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough to bring her in for questioning and let my client off the hook.”
Durant glanced at me and then wordlessly played the MP3 file my dad had created. We sat and listened to the conversation, and when it was done, the police chief leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment.
“Damn,” he whistled. “So, what motive did she have?”
“Something something about a woman scorned,” I laughed, “but you’ll have to ask her. But I held up my end of the deal. So, I trust SPD will hold up theirs?”
“You got it, Irving,” he said with a nod. “I’ll call the prosecutor immediately, and we’ll downgrade your client to a person of interest. And tell your dad I said hi.”
“Will do,” I replied with a grin. “Although, I don’t know if he’ll want to hear from you after that review … ”
“He never has,” Durant grumbled.
“What does that mean?” I laughed.
“You know,” he slammed down his pen, “I’m a damn good drummer. I don’t know why he never wanted me to play. Instead, he got that God awful Tom Grogan behind him. That guy wouldn’t know a snare drum from a hole in the ass.”
I snickered. “Is that what this is about? He never hired you for his band?”
“Damn straight!” Durant exclaimed with a frown. “I know all his songs. What’s wrong with me?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” I admitted honestly. “You seem perfectly suited for the part from my end. I’ll put in a good word for y
ou.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that, Henry.”
“Have a good day, Hal,” I replied with a smile. Then I turned, walked out of the office, and headed out to my car.
After having chalked up another win, and settling a family dispute, I definitely felt like I deserved a drink.
So, I drove out to Slinger’s and called The Count on the way.
“Hey Alfred,” I greeted when he picked up.
“Hello, Henry,” he responded. “How do you do?”
“I’m doing well,” I told him as a smile crawled across my face, “and I’m about to make your night a hundred times better.”
“Oh, heavens,” he breathed. “Please tell me you found the murderer.”
“We think we found the murderer,” I confirmed.
“Wait, you think?” Alfred asked, and the joy that had crept into his voice rapidly faded.
“We’ve got enough evidence to suggest another suspect was more likely than you, so they’re not going to charge you,” I clarified.
He gasped. “Oh thank heavens, thank heavens. Who was it?”
“We think it was Allison Pierce,” I told him. “There was some bad blood between her and Jerry, and we’ve got some evidence of an assault on a tape. It’s not entirely conclusive, but it’s enough to reopen the investigation. She’ll be the focus from here on out.”
“Allison?” the Count asked, and I could tell he was trying to place the name. “The young woman who played Gretchen?”
“That’s the one,” I confirmed. “We found the evidence on a tape in Jerry’s safe. We had a bunch of guys listening. All the guys are going out for drinks at Slingers now. If you’d like to come, we would love it.”
“Oh,” he sighed, “I would if I could, but I’m on this important scene in this novel that--oh what the hell. I guess I could stop by for a drink or two.”
“I know the guys would love to meet you,” I chuckled. “We’ll see you out there.”
“Great,” he said. “I shall come at once.”
I ended the call and then dialed Vicki, but she didn’t pick up. It didn’t matter though, because five minutes later. I arrived at Slingers, and on a Saturday evening, it was just gearing up. I pulled into the gravel parking, and the live honky tonky filtered even out into the parking lot. I’d always hated this bar, it always felt like it was just trying too hard with the outlaw rebel motiff.
“Christ almighty,” I muttered as I made my way to the door. “Merle Haggard, really?”
I recognized the twangy picking guitar strains of his classic Mama Tried. I grew up around musicians, I didn’t know how I knew half the music I did. But I did.
This was definitely going to be a quick drink.
When I walked in, I saw our table quickly. My dad and all his buds, a few beers in, stood and cheered for the band. How a bunch of hippie rock and rollers grew to love Merle Haggard and cowboy bars, I didn’t quite understand, but I chalked it up to reverse irony. They started out making fun, and then the line dancing and guitar picking grew on them, and now it’s a Saturday evening past time.
In the dark room, I navigated past mahogany booths with framed photos of Roy Orbison and John Wayne on the wall, spaced out between mounted pistols. A bouncer with a gray handlebar mustache and wearing a patriotic t-shirt and a leather vest nodded to me with a severe expression. I wondered what he would have thought of Jerry’s film.
I ordered a Corona from the waitress dressed in a classic bar wench costume. I wasn’t staying long. Then I found my dad in the crowd and snickered at his LEGALIZE IT t-shirt.
“Wrong crowd, Dad,” I yelled above the noise.
“Huh?” he shouted back.
I just shook my head. The joke was lost.
“You hear this?” my dad called out to me. “Their lead guitarist is one of the best in Sedona. Listen to him.”
I stood, watched the lead guitarist for a minute, and noticed he was actually quite good. He launched into a long complicated solo that would have made Merle proud. Or offended. Artistic types don’t typically take too well to being one upped.
The guys were all clapping with their beer bottles, and I stood and listened with them. Then I saw The Count enter the bar, and I nodded at him.
He smiled and clearly looked out of place channeling Jim Caveziel in his Count of Monte Cristo getup. But he instantly recognized the waitress, and I noticed a longing glance pass between the two.
I raised an eyebrow. The Count was lonely.
Then Alfred offered a gentlemanly hand to the waitress, and she looked like she would melt. The next thing I knew, they were on the dance floor. He glanced at me with a smile, and I returned and toasted him with my beer bottle.
We listened to more really awful honky tonky, and then it wasn’t long before Vicki arrived.
But I barely recognized her when I saw her.
“Holy shit,” I told her, and she laughed.
She was fully decked out in a cowboy hat, western shirt, and pink cowboy boots with spurs.
“You like?” she yelled over the music.
I just laughed harder. “It’s different!”
She had a black Stetson in her hand, and before I knew it, she popped it on my head, and I laughed.
“Howdy, pard’ner,” she drawled with a wink.
The band launched into the quintessential line dance anthem, Achy Breaky Heart. The whole bar cheered with the opening notes, and Vicki and I doubled over in ironic laughter. Then a spontaneous line dance broke out, and Vicki smirked at me.
“Why not?” I shrugged.
So, Vicki and I joined the line dance. We laughed over grapevines and heel digs, and I had to admit, Billy Ray was onto something. It was shit music, but it sure was fun.
The Count and the bar wench danced near us, and he was so uncoordinated he nearly fell over. But the bar wench laughed and caught him before she pulled him against her again.
I grinned at the sight, and as I turned in time with the music, I even caught my dad cutting loose a bit.
But it was Vicki who kept my attention. She laughed and clapped and shook her tiny little hips to the country anthem. She was mesmerizing.
So, here I was, in a Sedona cowboy bar, wearing a Stetson, and line dancing to really, really, bad country music.
Man, I was in love.
Chapter 20
“So, we cracked another one,” AJ sighed as she laced her fingers behind her head and leaned back in her chair.
It was Monday morning, and the three of us were back at the grind, minus a murder case on our hands.
“Go Team HAV,” I said, and Vicki and AJ laughed.
“Was it always like this, even when you guys were back in L.A.?” AJ asked.
“Uh, no,” I chuckled with a shake of my head. “L.A. was different. We weren’t doing criminal law, so it was a different energy.”
“Huh,” AJ hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve always imagined the life you guys led back there was super glamorous. Kind of like in that show Californication.”
I laughed really hard. Californication was a David Duchovny show about life as a writer in L.A. He mainly just had sex with half of Orange County, and occasionally wrote some half decent cynical ramblings on his vintage typewriter.
“A little bit,” I admitted, “but we actually had to work, too. And there were people who lived like the David Duchovny character, but they didn’t last long. If you wanted to make it, you needed to know how to dial down the whole sex, drugs, and rock and roll elements.”
“I mainly just did the paperwork,” Vicki added with a shrug. ”Henry got to do all the cool stuff, like go to fancy parties.”
“Oh, right,” AJ snapped her fingers, “I forgot you guys weren’t together then. It’s so weird, thinking of you not together.”
I thought about the statement and realized it was also weird for me not to think of us together.
“Do you guys miss L.A.?” AJ followed up as she leaned forward in her seat and propped her chin in her hand
.
“Not really,” Vicki replied before she glanced at me.
“A little bit,” I admitted. “I definitely miss the energy of the big city life. But, career wise, what we’re doing here is so much bigger, that I’m happy with it. How’s the play, by the way?”
“I finished it,” AJ declared with a grin. “I have a drama professor who said she’ll look over it and give me some feedback, so that’s good. But you know … ”
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve been thinking about getting into scriptwriting,” she confessed as she dropped her eyes. “Doing more of it.”
“It’s a tough business,” I pointed out.
“I know,” she nodded, “and basically the odds are so small they’re nonexistent. But … ”
She trailed off for a while.
“But what?” I prodded.
“You know who Aaron Sorkin is, right?” she asked.
“The scriptwriter?” I questioned. “Absolutely.”
“His first big movie was A Few Good Men,” she said.
“I didn’t know he wrote that,” I mused before I scrunched up my face. “I hate that movie. It’s so unrealistic.”
“I know,” AJ groaned as she fingered her laptop, “but do you know how he got the idea?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“His sister was a lawyer and told him about this case she was going to do, and he took the bare bones of it and wrote the screenplay,” AJ explained, “and then he went on from there. So, the play, the film, it’s just got me all thinking.”
“Well,” I began with a reassuring smile, “if you want to go after it, you should.”
“I think I will,” she replied with her own smile. “You guys still know people in Hollywood, right?”
“I do,” I nodded, “so when you have something good, I’ll pass it along for you.”
“Cool,” AJ said. “Thank you.”
I didn’t know about where AJ was going. When we met her, she was a community college girl with a blog. Then she’d said she wanted to get certified as a private investigator. Now, she wanted to be a scriptwriter? She definitely had some talent, but I wasn’t sure if she had the passion to stick it out in the cutthroat world in Hollywood.
